I had woken up at dawn in Puerto Nariño; a glorious Colombian jungle town nestled in a bend of the Amazon River, says Vicky Maskell. It was another hot day and the deep earthy smell of the jungle wafted around me. I was there to celebrate my birthday, a rather hasty last minute decision driven by my love of all things jungle. Full of anticipation to see if I might spot a toucan or capybara, I was excited about the day ahead. I joined a small jungle tour with a Swiss couple. After breakfast, we climbed into a small boat and huddled under the flimsy sheet that acted as a roof, which was our only option for shade. We cross the river to find ourselves on Peruvian soil. There were greens and blues of every possible shade as far as the eye could see, interrupted by splashes of intense color from a flower, a bird, a butterfly, or a creepy crawly with an unfathomable number of legs. Later we crossed back to the Colombian side of the jungle. We had been under the scorching sun for several hours and I was happy when our boat docked next to a small jungle lodge. We jumped down and climbed some steep steps to a clearing. We could see several habituated monkeys in the trees, looking down, assessing who had what food they would like. Someone handed him a banana and a little capuchin monkey dropped down, grabbed the fruit and ran away. A howler monkey watched. Nestled among the trees was a raised platform, like a lifeguard tower, promising views over the river and beyond. After filling up my water, I separated from the rest of the group and walked up the stairs, munching on a piece of pineapple as I went. When I got to the top I felt a sudden sharp pain in my head, and then another, and another. Wasps. Ten? Twenty? I’m not sure. I felt them surround me as each sting pierced my skin. Before I could scream for help, a capuchin monkey jumped on my head. About the size of a cat, with a light brown face placed like a mask over a darker brown body, I assume he had been watching the proceedings from the nearest tree. He pulled a wasp out of my hair, then another, then another. He picked wasps one by one with his slender fingers, grabbed a sting and gently removed it before throwing it on the ground. At that moment, he had involuntarily shouted, drawing the attention of others. One of them called my vantage point to ask what was going on. “Wasps! I’ve been stung, but this monkey is getting them off me,” I replied. “Actually?!” they shouted in response. “Actually!” And then, seconds later, probably interrupted by my screams, the capuchin monkey jumped away from me and returned to its observation post in the tree, its long tail waving an imaginary goodbye. I ran down the stairs holding my arms above my head to protect myself from more wasps. Surprised by what happened, the guide looked at my head and said: “Yes, you were stung, but I really think that monkey saved you.” I nodded, starting to feel a little overwhelmed by what had just happened. I love the jungle, it is where my soul rises. Nature surrounds you. It drips from every branch, from every leaf, from every drop in the air. I usually watch in awe and back away to keep a safe distance from anything wild that moves. But that day, the capuchin monkey broke that barrier, deliberately protecting me from harm. I certainly won’t forget it in a hurry.
